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Page 391
him, he heard his name called aloud twice. A rush of relief was immediately swamped by shock. The voice was not that of Leicester or Vesci. It was FitzWalter, who was shouting for reinforcements. Ian knew his one real fear had been realized. The two plots against him had been combined, either deliberately or by accident. The bitter realization nearly undid him at once. Turning his head to see if it was really FitzWalter not only provided him with proof that it was, but added the unwelcome information that Saer de Quincy was already at FitzWalter's side. Ian had no delusions about how this must end. Six before and two behind were more than any one man could handle. And turning his head permitted Cornhill, who had mastered his horse and his own hurts, to strike a blow against which Ian was unguarded.
A shout of triumph from the oncoming knights was an unexpected blessing. Ian's sword came up in time to deflect Cornhill's blow, which would certainly have cut his throat if it had not completely severed his head from his body. It took him in the shoulder, but glancingly. The gasp Ian uttered had nothing to do with the pain of the blow. It was a sound of sheer surprise as the six-man ram that had been thundering toward him neatly split in two, detoured around Henry and himself and, three on a side, took on FitzWalter and de Quincy.
It took Ian ten minutes to finish off Cornhill instead of five, because he was so consumed by laughter that half his blows were ineffective. In spite of his amusement, he was horribly aware that his danger was not materially decreased. The fact that one set of plotters had eliminated the second set in the mistaken belief that they were coming to Ian's rescue, did not change the fact that there were six men behind him who intended to kill him. Finally, Ian struck the sword from Henry's hand and had the satisfaction of hearing him yell again and seeing that he made no move to reach

 
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